


Dearest Molly

by Annorahrose



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, Post TFP, Post-Season/Series 04, Sherlock Holmes Has Feelings, Sherlolly Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:01:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28352097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annorahrose/pseuds/Annorahrose
Summary: It’s Christmas Eve, and Sherlock has finally come to terms with his feelings for Molly. Now, how to tell her...*Update - chapter two has been posted with Molly’s reaction. Enjoy! 😊
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper
Comments: 46
Kudos: 98





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer - Oh, that I owned even a little corner of anything Sherlock. Alas, I don’t, and no copyright infringement is intended. They’re just so much fun to play with!!!
> 
> Because I am among the most annoying people on the planet, I continue my grand tradition of continuing to review, edit, and tweak. History shows I get sick of my own story soon enough, and I beg your patience as I rage my endless battles against my own insecurities. So far, y’all seem much happier with my stories than I am. I honestly cannot thank you all enough for everything you do to support me. This fandom is an answer to more than one prayer for me.

From: Sherlock.Holmes@icloud.com  
To: deadcenteroftown@gmail.com  
Date: December 24th, 2017 2:27am  
Subject: Subjects are boring

Dearest Molly,

Where to begin?

To say this is not my area is a remarkable understatement. I’m not a coward, and I’ve never shied away from confrontation. I fear, however, that if I tried to express myself verbally I might misrepresent myself, and after my behavior in the past several weeks I feel you are owed an explanation. This missive is my attempt to provide such, and to convey my appreciation for your importance. I very much want to be sure it comes across as intended. In the spirit of full transparency know that John is assisting me with my wording, to be sure I don’t say something unintentionally hurtful.

You are quite an intelligent woman, so I will not insult you by telling you that I have always regarded emotional behavior as being counterproductive to my intellectual needs. You know that better than most, I’m afraid. I never meant to be hurtful, though if I’m to be honest my intentions were also not always honorable. I’ve never liked admitting I am wrong unless I have discovered it for myself, but I can’t deny that when our working relationship began I had no problem using your obvious feelings for me to further my own ends. John tells me that is a tactless way to say that, though I don’t understand why. In any case, no offense is intended. You and I both know (as does John) that you have long found me attractive. That is not an insult, it is simply fact. There was never anything wrong with your actions or thoughts so I don’t understand why this is supposedly “inappropriate”, but judging from the look John is now giving me, I must be missing something. I always do.

Here forward I will ask for your patience. John has determined since I “refuse to listen to” him, he is “washing his hands of the whole situation”. He really is a drama queen.

In any case, as I said, there is nothing wrong with your actions, but I do acknowledge that there was with mine. Having said that, it is vital that you understand any such manipulation ceased absolutely when you worked to help orchestrate my death. It was then that I began, for perhaps the first time in my life, to comprehend the complexity of support offered genuinely by someone with no ulterior motive. I certainly have never been in a position to show support in this way, and in fact I still struggle to understand it completely. 

You are kind to a fault and you love unconditionally. I used to think this was a personality flaw. You leave yourself vulnerable to be hurt, to be taken advantage of (as our history well shows). You would do anything for your friends. In retrospect, I think it was this selflessness, displayed so consistently by you, that gave me the final courage to ask for your help, even if I didn’t see it at the time. I wish I could have contacted you while I was away, but you had already been placed at incredible risk because of me once. I couldn’t allow it to happen again, and I knew without a doubt you would put my comfort ahead of your own safety without a second thought. It’s just how you are.

I would also like to sincerely thank you for not marrying Tom. He may have been a good man, but he was nowhere near good enough for you. And he drove me absolutely spare. I’m not sure who would be good enough for you, actually. As I have said before, you deserve true happiness, with no conditions. You deserve never to have to settle.

Again, I must ask for your patience and seemingly endless reserves of understanding. I have never done this before.

In the past, I have always kept you at a certain arm’s length, though you always have managed to sneak your way further into my graces than I ever intended to allow. Honestly, I worked harder to keep you distant than anyone else. I always thought it was because of my general irritation with being idolized.

Something tells me John would find fault with that wording, but again, it’s fact, not judgement, and it is a reflection on my own faults, not yours. Granted, I’d never have seen it that way before. Maybe I don’t actually need his input to know when I might be saying the wrong thing – only the threat of it. I feel a bit like I’m rambling, but everything seems too important not to include.

Back to my point. You’ve been a close and valued friend for some time now. As I’ve said in the past (though it didn’t have the weight of meaning then that it does now), you see me. You thought that you didn’t count, and if I’m to continue to be honest here, I thought so as well until I actually heard you say it. Hearing those words – “I don’t count”, that shifted my perspective. I don’t know why, even now, I just know it did. You have always counted, and not just because I have always been able to rely on you, to trust you to provide not just answers, but the right answers, and the details I need that no one else would ever think important. You are not simply competent, you are exceedingly skilled. You may not be a genius, but you are brilliant in your own right. You are also attractive - beautiful, even.

Now, to address the proverbial elephant in the room. I’m loath to bring this into the light, as you and I were both hurt deeply by it. I am sorry I never spoke to you about what happened in Sherrinford, but I know you well enough to know you understand why I could not until now. I also know that John told you everything that happened, and you should know I asked him not to mention the coffin. Things had been painful enough, and I knew that you would take the blame onto yourself for my physical injuries and psychological pain, and so, according to what was recounted to me by John, you did. At the time I was furious that he had betrayed this confidence. Now I find myself quite glad he did. That display said things that I find I cannot. My sister, for all her many faults (to put it mildly), took comments that I made offhandedly about you and saw through them in a way not even John recognized. We still have not found all the ways she used to insinuate herself into our lives, so I’m not sure what other insight she might have gained where you are concerned, but the fact remains that she saw there was something deeper than I recognized where you are concerned. She also unintentionally displayed the consequences of denying one’s self of sentiment. Granted, I don’t think I’d have had quite as dramatic a reaction as she, but you take my meaning. I don’t ever want to be so lost as she. I had a brief flash of insight when I told you that you were the one who matters most, but I shut it down because you were engaged and at that time such thoughts could only serve to increase a sense of loss I wasn’t comfortable being there in the first place. 

What I’m trying to say is that I think of you quite fondly. More fondly than I have ever let on before, and I would very much like to see more of you, if you would consent to it. 

I’m not reaching out to you because I think you, your faithfulness to me all these years, or your love can rescue me – though I do wonder if that may well be true. I reach out, dear Molly, because I had never thought I could be a better man before now. A better investigator, a better scientist, yes, but not a better man. Now I am beginning to see myself differently, in large part because of you. There’s no self-deprecation in that statement, only new awareness. You are worthy of nothing less, and I want to be worthy of you. I suspect that this will not be a resounding shock to you, after the last weeks. We have had so many near misses; small touches that both elated and petrified me and I am certain confused you. I would have kissed you over the last Stephen Turner victim, but even I know a first kiss over a corpse doesn’t set the best stage. Then again, maybe it would have - after all, it’s you and me. I didn’t even know if you would allow it. Would you have? Would you now?

Best that I stop writing now. I believe that I’ve said all the important bits. If you want to stop by Baker Street, you will find me waiting.

Yours (hopefully),

Sherlock

From: holmesblogger.watson.221b@yahoo.com.uk  
To: deadcenteroftown@gmail.com  
Date: December 24th, 2017 3:04am  
Subject: Sherlock’s email

Molly,

He meant every word.

John


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Many mad props to the amazing people who encouraged me to write this second part, and especially to MrsMCrieff for keeping me on top of it. Hopefully it lives up to your expectations. 😊❤️

He was having her on. He was joking. Taking the mickey. He wasn’t serious. He couldn’t be serious. He was putting one over on her. Or John by way of her. She would get another email explaining the circumstances any minute.

_Bastard._

There was absolutely no chance that he was, in any way shape or form, sincere. Despite the heightened respect he had shown her since he returned from saving the whole bloody world for the 875th time, he had opted to go down this road of barbed wire and razor blades. There had to be a logical explanation.

 _Bloody wanker_.

It was for a case. So he could gather intel. He was doing recon. He needed proof of a hypothesis. He needed her forensic expertise in support of a particularly weird case. An experiment had gone very wrong and this was part of some sort of damage control.

_Presumptuous git_

Mycroft dared him to, then John told him not to, and Sherlock had a classic passive aggressive temper tantrum, knowing that her could always count on her to help him. John wrote it and... no, there were no circumstances where John would have done this...

_Childish prat._

He was drunk. He was high. Within the next few hours John was going to show up at the lab requesting a drug test.

_Selfish inconsiderate junkie._

He was on some super secret task force to crack open a case for the queen. He had sent it thinking that he could hack her email and delete it before she read it.

 _Short-sighted arse._ She shouldn’t let him get to her.

He was abducted by aliens. Little green men sounded much more plausible than what she was staring at right now. After all, she really should be sleeping at 2am on Christmas Eve, not perched on one of her kitchen counter stools and entering the mad stage of insomnia when retail therapy sounds like quite a good idea.

 _Self righteous blow hard._ How did he always manage to get to her?

There was some perfectly logical explanation for this.

Since when did Sherlock admit he was wrong? Or acknowledge that he’d been hurtful? This missive had a decidedly awkward feel to it. Sherlock didn’t do awkward. When he was using a situation as a means to an end, he was always smooth and charming. This email was neither smooth nor charming - it was as close to humble as she’d ever seen. She would even say there were points where he was almost babbling. Sherlock Holmes did not babble. Ever.   
  
Molly lost all track of the time. She read the message over and over again, looking for clues as to his motivation, trying to see past his words to discern what he really wanted. It was true that over the past few weeks his behavior had been... odd. She had seen more genuine smiles, more appreciative comments, and even some extended gazes that looked as if... and there had been that moment in the Turner autopsy when she would have sworn he leaned in to kiss her...

No. She’d put those thoughts aside. She could not allow herself to think there was any more to his feelings than there had been previously. That would only lead to another letdown and more heartache. They were friends. Good friends, even. He had allowed her to be there for him after the Culverton Smith case. She wasn’t his first choice, of course, but he had permitted her to be a kind of stopgap between John, Greg, and Mrs. Hudson. It was more than she had ever dared hope for, really, to feel like a part of his inner circle. 

But this... 

An email alert brought her back to the present - this time it was a message from John. 

_He meant every word.  
_

She closed her laptop and strode to her bedroom to get dressed. If this wasn’t real, if this was... ANYTHING other than the absolute truth, no one would ever find either of their bodies. 

———

Molly wasn’t quite sure how she got to Baker Street. She found herself standing on the street looking up at his illuminated front windows. He was standing in full view, but his eyes were closed as he played his violin. She took a moment, breaking from her purposeful movements to watch him. In that moment, she realized something she’d never even suspected before - standing on the precipice of all your dreams coming true is truly terrifying. She kept staring, her arms crossed in front of her to shield her from the cold. 

His face was so content. It wasn’t a side of him she really ever got to see; and such peace in the expression of a man who was so important to her was almost overwhelming. Her hurried and deliberate demeanor fell away, leaving a kind of softness in its place.

_I have never done this before._

Sherlock opened his eyes as if he had felt the weight of her gaze.

_I want to be worthy of you._

He slowly lowered the violin from his shoulder.

_After all, it’s you and me._

A smile unlike any other she had seen from him graced his face. It was not wide or large. It held deep emotion, both powerful and gentle.

_You will find me waiting._

The front door opened, and John appeared, shivering slightly from the cold despite his thick winter coat. He wore a very smug expression and beckoned Molly inside with a jerk of his head.

“He’s waiting.”

They passed on the front step, and John reached out, grasping Molly’s upper arms and placing a kiss on her forehead. Then he smiled at her, nodded once, and walked on into the pre-dawn darkness. 

Molly took a deep, fortifying breath and stepped through the door. As she began to climb the stairs, she looked up to find Sherlock waiting at the top. He wore the same expression as he had in the window. Her steps quickened and she passed him on the landing, leading the way into the flat. Without looking at him, Molly took off her coat, hat, scarf, and gloves. She took one more deep breath before turning to face him. 

Sherlock stepped closer to her - just close enough to touch - and looked down at her with a combination of fear, hope, and affection. Molly gave a nervous yet genuine smile and stepped forward again, closing the distance between them even more. 

“Was it real, Sherlock?”

”Oh, yes. Very much so.”

_I didn’t even know if you would allow it. Would you have? Would you now?_

”I would have then, and I will now.”

Sherlock’s expression sobered slightly, becoming more confident and less questioning. One hand settled on her waist while the other cradled her jaw. Molly’s eyes closed at his touch, relishing the moment. She felt him moving and before she could even process what was happening she felt his lips brush hers. The kiss was brief - he began to pull away after only a moment. Unwilling to let him go, Molly moved back towards him, and this time it was her catching his mouth, her arms moving around him, her mouth stealing his breath. His arms wrapped her in a tight embrace as the kiss become more passionate. Breathing became an issue, but neither one seemed willing to stop a moment before they had to. 

When they did break the kiss, it was unwillingly. Both were panting as if they had been sprinting. Sherlock rested his forehead on hers while they tried to catch their breath. She chuckled softly, causing him to give her an inquisitive look. 

“This is the best Christmas I’ve ever had. To think, all I got you was that stupid magnifying glass.” 

Sherlock’s hand moved back up to her face, cupping her cheek. 

“No, Molly. This is my gift. You are my gift. You are so... so incredibly... Molly. Thank you.”

As he moved to kiss her again, he turned them both so he could reach the door with his foot. He kicked it gently closed.   
  
For the first time in a long time, he had received a Christmas gift he had no desire to return. 

**Author's Note:**

> I can’t seem to resist analyzing anything and everything I dream of coming out of that larger than life brain. What do you think? Too sappy? Too long winded? Juuuuuust right? 😉😊
> 
> Side note: a few of you amazing readers have expressed interest in a part two. I might be sweet-talked into such a thing - maybe reviews could sway me.. (see what I did there? Shamelessly fishing, and I’m not even sorry 😉❤️)


End file.
